What Is Love?
by Spider-Harley
Summary: Love? Are you nuts? She's an obsessed psychologist. He's a manipulative psycho. Just who is kidding who? Where exactly does love come into play here? Foolish, irrational, insane, demented, abusive, filled with lies? Yes. Romantic? Not so much. Rating subject to change. AU
1. Can You Smell the Fear?

Hello people. Everyone seems to have their own take on the Joker-Harley seduction and her origin. This is mine. Then why should you read this? I dunno. Probably the same reason you clicked on this: You love the Joker and/or Harley Quinn. In my case, I've grown a rather unhealthy obsession over the characters. Especially with Harley.

Anyways, reviews and follows are always appreciated. please comment regardless if you liked the story or not (preferably, the former) so i know what people think of the story and what I need to improve on. Thanks, and here goes nothing

_,,_

Cars were always running fast in Gotham. Danger seemed to be part of the people's everyday lives, too much, in fact. But no matter how used they were to the risks of the City life, or, even worse, the Gotham life, they seemed to speed up more as they passed by a particular street, wanting to get away from it as fast as possible. They even refused to look at what was at the end of it, an old-looking rusted black gate. At least, that was all that was visible. Only a vast minority had actually been close enough to see pass the gates. And what they saw, wasn't exactly one they would like to revisit.

Inside the building, there was still a facade. Though not particularly very clean and pretty, it didn't really look like how most people had described it: hell.

Doctors rarely lasted for more than four years. And those unfortunate enough to stay longer, have no hope of ever leaving. They had been sucked in. Their appearances were also a facade. Inside, their souls had been tainted with the horrors that they had to socialize with-if treating mentally-unwell patients was considered as a social activity.

It was seven forty-five, a little over an hour before the employees changed shifts. One doctor in particular, was wishing that time would come quickly and pass her by, just so she could get what she needed to do over with. But then again, she also wished time would slow down, maybe even stop, thinking that it would be better not to go through with it. But as she sat in her office, she thought, _what could she do?_, she had already agreed to it, not after a heavy debate of course.

A knock at the door was heard, and her body started filling up with fear. Halfway through, she forced the fear out of her and gathered the courage to say two simple words, "Come in."

The door opened and an orderly emerged. "All set, Doctor Quinzel?" The answer was no, but she couldn't say that. Instead, she stood up, took her bag, and hoped for the best. "Yeah."

The orderly, a slightly muscular man by the name of Billie, led the doctor to the High Risk Ward. It was a zoo up there, almost literally considering the animals that had taken abode to it. Somewhere in what could be considered as the underbelly of Arkham, was an examination room. Beside the door was another orderly, a taller one with blond hair, named Mike. He greeted the doctor, who failed to notice the act as she laid eyes on the door, labeled: "The Joker".

Her stare was interrupted when the door slid open. Her eyes adjusted from the shadowy atmosphere of the corridor, to the single light bulb that seemed to be illuminating the room like the sun.

Her throat dried when she saw the perso-the creature inside.

There were no furniture besides a leather chair, a leather couch, and a table, all bolted to the floor. He laid on the couch, with his body straight, his upper arms and his legs strapped, and his hands cuffed over his chest.

He felt the presence of someone, someone new. He looked up at the ceiling with his eyes shut and let out a soft sigh. Slowly, the corners of his lips raised up to a grin as he inhaled the air, taking in his surroundings. He let the air out and licked his lips.

"Hello, Pumpkin."


	2. First Impressions Last

She stood there, unmoving, lost in her own world. Except, it wasn't her world, it was his. He had the tendency to do this to people. He had a kind of gravitational pull that when he was in the room, you can't help but be amazed at how small a package he is for the size of chaos and destruction he brings.

Months have past since he had been captured and incarcerated. Arkham had been his home away from home, away from the streets, away from Batman.

He wasn't an easy patient. Doctors would come in that same room and come out with either their heads down as they hide in the shadows, or with their heads up, a gun right beside it, and go towards the light. But those were professionals, and what fun they brought! What had made Dr. Arkham so desperate that he'd come to a young doctor like her in search of a "cure" for him? Apparently, very desperate. Although, he couldn't help but think about what this new doctor has in store for him. Dr. Arkham wasn't stupid-by "normal" standards, at least-he wouldn't have an amateur go in there and get eaten by the sharks-or, shark-there had to be something different about this one, and God knows he will find out what it was.

"Come on, don't be shy." His voice was soft, seemingly having a caring tone. But if what half of what anyone had heard about him was true, he didn't give a rat's anything about anything besides those little jokes of his. And people didn't particularly have a liking for jokes of his sort.

To anyone who had heard what he said-in this case, only the three of them-his words were a enough to stop one's heart from beating. But for her, all it really did for now was snap her out of her trance and into her senses.

"Oh…yes…um," She turned her head towards the door behind her. Billie took this for a signal to close the door.

"Don't worry about him, Doc. He is strapped, you know. Not even he can get out of that one."

The gentle thud of the sliding door closing shut made her even more nervous. As she turned back to her new patient, her now-clear head turned him from a blur, to a nightmare. His skin was white, not fair, but white. He seemed to had bleached himself. And she knew it wasn't makeup, the showers he's had would have removed them. She knew that he did wear black makeup around his eyes and red on his lips. Without those, he looked different, though still recognizable. His almost purple eye-bags were visible now, but more importantly, you could see his scars. They were barely visible before, but now anyone who looked at him would have their eyes locked on his lips, move towards the corners, and up to his cheeks. And how creepy they were, forming a smile that even the most vigorous of wiping or most horrific of torture couldn't remove. It was an eternal grin.

His hair was a pale shade of brownish green. She began to wonder what kind of chemical bath he had taken to get that kind of pigmentation.

Next to his scars, his eyes were what got people scared. Instead of eyes, in his sockets he had white balls, with blood red circles painted in, and small black dots in the middle, just a millimeter in diameter.

She could tell, he was excited.

"Good um, evening, Mister Joker." She sat on the chair and set her bag on the table, the only thing in the room that gave her even the slightest feeling of protection. "I uh…my name's Har-Doctor Quinzel." She was stammering. Right now, she really hated herself.

"Could we not be so formal, Doc? Please?" He looked back at the ceiling. "You can just call me…" he closed his eyed and licked his lips, a mannerism he seemed to have developed. He waved a finger around, searching for words. "Call me Joker or…Jokey. Or, I dunno…Jack? Joe? How about J?"

She chuckled. She wasn't comfortable, but she found him amusing, even funny.

"Sorry. There is such a thing as professionalism. The formality is, uh…not something we could just drop. So we're gonna have to stick to Mister Joker."

He sighed. "Fine." He turned back to his doctor. "Har. You said Har. Harl? Ha-Harley?"

She inhaled loudly, regretting how she almost revealed her first name. She wasn't suppose to tell it until their fifth session.

"Harleen, actually. But I've been called Harley."

"Friends?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Did your friends call you that?"

"Well…yes. My friends, my mom…family."

"So, can I call you Harley? Hmm, Pumpkin?"

He was trying to get her to feel close him. Obvious in the way he speaks, with that false concern painted all over his face.

"Mister Joker, please, I will refer to you as Mister Joker, and you refer to me as Doctor Quinzel."

"Quinzel. Quin-zel." The syllables rolled of his tongue, as if tasting the letters. "Quinn."

"Wait, I'm sorry, what?"

"Nothing."

Nothing. Yeah, right.

"Okay, shall we go back to me asking the the questions?"

"Well…" He stretched his body, as far as he could while strapped down to the couch. "All you had to do was ask."

"Well then-"

"But it seems pretty unfair that I get to tell you everything about me and you barely share anything. I know you're the doctor and all, but that don't seem fair, does it? You get to poke around inside my head, get to know what goes on in there, rearrange some furniture. And I thought I messed with people's minds." Straight to the point, just as she expected.

"As a Doctor, all I want to do is help. That's all any doctor wants to do." Of course it was. What other reason would a doctor like her be interested in him?

"Why? Why the interest in the, ahem, 'mentally-unwell', Doc?"

"Why? Well, because…because I think-I believe that everyone's just one bad day away from insanity."

His eyes widened. He liked that answer. So true, so…fun.

"Even you, Doc?"

"Well…sure, even me."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just…nothing…Harley."

"Mister…" she sighed. "Please, Mister Joker-"

"Refer to you as Doctor Quinzel. Yeah, yeah, yadda yadda yadda."

"Please."

"Ugh. F-fine, Doc. You know what? Fine."

"Please, right now all we need to do is complete some forms."

"Forms? Never had those before."

"They're new. They're um…patient profiles. We will need to complete these so we could get to the more important topics, if that's okay with you."

"Yeah, sure, Doc. My life's an open book, so read away."

_Not my fault if you don't like what you read._

She reached into her purse, and pulled out a folder. He knew, those were his files, everything they had on him, against him. Pathetic.

She opened it up and took out some papers, then she put the folder back in her purse.

"Okay…so…let's start. Name?"

He gave her a look. His left eyebrow pointed downwards and his right was raised, wrinkling his forehead, while his left eye twitched..

"Fine. Joker. Age?"

"Guess."

"Guess?"

"Guess. Guess my age."

She thought for a while, taking in consideration his personality, his mental state, his 'sense of humor'. "Late twenties?"

"I'm not telling, Doc. You make a guess, then write it down." He explained.

"I'm not guessing. I'm leaving it blank."

"Fair enough. Next?"

She looked back at the papers, looking at all the fields."Spouse?"

"Really, Doc?"

"Children?"

"Now you're just being ridiculous, Pumpkin-I mean, uh, Doc Quinzel."

"Hmph. You know what? This isn't gonna work." She threw the papers behind her and sat back on her chair. Now, that was something he didn't expect, he had to admit that. "You…" she pointed. "Can tell me anything you want. We're playing your game."

He intertwined his fingers. Now, things are starting to get interesting. "Okay, Doc. My game" he closed his eyes and licked his lips. He lifted a finger and started twirling it around, humming a tune. Where'd he learn it? He couldn't care less.

"My game. Rules are: we become fair. So, you, Doc, get to tell your story." He grinned at his doctor.

"Fine. Your game, your rules. I'm gonna play. What do you wanna know?"

"Well, Doc…" he parted his lips, just enough to reveal his tongue licking his yellowish teeth. He was hungry. He thought for a while. He needed to ask the right question, gather just enough information to hold against her. An ace up his sleeve was what he needed. He had aces for everyone. Even Batman. He was going to do the same with his current doctor. She thinks he needed help? Big mistake. She needed to break. She needed to bleed. He could do all that, and more.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"What?"

She was thrown back by the question. Not only was it totally inappropriate, it was absurd. Either that, or…perfectly clever.

"A boyfriend ,Doc." His reply was short. He didn't have time for playing. He needed an answer.

"Um…well, no. Not as of now."

"So you've had boyfriends?"

"Yeah. I mean…yeah. Back in…in high school…college."

"A lot?"

"What?" She was stalling. She hated that question.

"Have you had a lot of boyfriends, Doc? You know, being the…" she waved his hands at her, raising his eyebrows. "Ahem…kind of girl you are."

Her cheeks heated up, and she turned to face the floor, trying to stop a chuckle. "Um…I guess you, uh, could say that." She looked back up. "Guess-yeah, you could, you could say that."

"So, that was college?"

"Hmm? Yeah. Quite a few in college."

"Did you, uh, attract men that were a bit, you know, out of your age group? Both ways, I mean."

"I suppose. What's with all these questions?"

"What's with all your questions? Hmm, Doc? My game, remember? My rules."

She sighed. His rules. She decided she didn't like his rules. "Anything else?"

"How about after college, Doc?"

"Not a lot."

"Did you come here right after college? I mean, you are pretty young. How old are you?"

"Um…I don't think I should answer the last question."

"Why not, Doc?" He whined like a child. "Come on, Doc. What's so bad about telling me your age?"

She sighed, again. Should she answer? "Right after college, I signed up for an internship here in Arkham. Doctor Arkham cut my internship short and, here I am, seven months later."

"Seven months of work or internship?"

"Four months internship and three months work."

"You must be pretty good then, if they let someone as young as you to work here. My condolences, by the way. What's your age again? Baby-face girl like you must be pretty young."

She sighed, as it had been a regularity as of late. "Twenty-seven."

His eyes widened. "How'd they let you in the High Risk Ward?"

"I do have pretty high grades."

"Oh, I've heard. There's really no wonder you did, by the… 'looks' of it." He raised an eyebrow, while flashing her a smirk.

"What do you mean?" She knew exactly what he meant.

He parted his lips to answer, then hesitated. "Nothing, Doc." He turned away from her while biting his lips, trying to hold back his laughter

"Mister Joker, what exactly are you suggesting of me?" Her voice was rising. She was breaking. Now it was time to stop. He didn't need to break her anymore. That was enough for the first session.

"Nothing, Doc. Guess first impressions do last."


	3. The Tooth Fairy's a Bitch

His cell was dark. Almost nothing was visible inside when it was night time. He liked that room. He didn't like the other cells, they were bright. The orderlies couldn't be bothered to even turn the lights off at night. So he did the most sensible thing to do, he threw a rock at it. It took him days to carve out a small piece of the wall, the shred of glass he found in the corner sure did help. Blame it on poor house cleaning.

He was in a particularly bad mood today. His tooth ache had been worse since this morning. He decided his five month long anti-dental hygiene strike was over. The hell with that. He was going to start brushing his teeth again.

Where his feet were pointing as he laid on the cot, was a sink and a toilet behind a metal partition, a single wall positioned right in front of the entrance so as to have a little bit of privacy from the small, eye-level, rectangular window on the door.

As he got up, he felt his head throbbing, and so was his arms. He hated the way they drugged him. They didn't trust him enough-or at all-to give him oral medication, everything was given via syringes. Which, in his humble opinion, was stupid. A few swift movements, and they would have needles sticking through their hands. He was smart enough to agree to take them orally, but they didn't believe he would actually take them. Yeah, a few pills crushed beneath his foot was way worse than having needles through their flesh. Idiots.

His toothbrush was sitting on top of the sink. It was in mint condition, considering the fact that the only time he used it was to reach that hard-to-scratch part of his back. He'd used the toothpaste before, though. Mostly, to stick pebbles onto the wall.

He squeezed out the contents of the small tube unto the brush as he checked his reflection in the mirror. He was filthy. His orange suit was tinted brown. Mostly, around his neck and chest area. He didn't care much for using napkins after meals-not that they had any.

He reached inside his mouth, and as the brush rubbed his aching molar, the pain got even worse. After he rinsed his mouth, the tip of his tongue pushed the loose tooth around. And voila, he spit after he tasted blood. A tooth covered in blood and spit came out. He picked it up, examining it. His teeth really were yellow.

He walked back towards his bed and put the tooth under his pillow. "Eh…what the hell." He changed his mind. He took the tooth back out and slid it inside a hole he made in the wall. "The tooth fairy's a bitch."

_,,_

It had been two days after her last-and her first-session with the infamously famous Joker. She recorded the session via the phone in her coat pocket, and she had been replaying it every time she came across it on her phone. She compared it to the notes that the other doctors wrote about their sessions. Interestingly enough, her's was the best one by far. Certainly the least violent and least hostile. It goes without saying that the patient's sedative doses had been previously raised in attempt to calm him down, but all it did was make him crankier and, ironically, more agitated. The last resort was to keep him in solitary, where he spent the previous two months without doctors and with only his assigned orderlies to keep him company.

At first, he liked solitary, but like most things that he became fond of, eventually he grew bored of it. He'd memorized every single zit on Billie and Mike's faces and every stain-one of which he couldn't identify-on the padded walls. He'd thought of seventy-two ways to escape Arkham. Some he dreamed of at night, the more plausible ones-a vast minority-he thought of while he was drawing on the ceiling. He'd often bite his nails, creating different sized razors, which he used in getting the "ink" he used for his art. Eventually, and apparently, he gave up his violent behavior. At least now he had the company of the other inmates during meals in the cafeteria, even though he hated both the people and the food. In hindsight, he could have just requested for a simple magazine to keep him busy while in solitary. They gave him back his favorite socks, they would probably give him a magazine if they thought that it would help. Why wouldn't they?

He could think of eight good reasons.

Harley had been thinking for a while, and she'd decided to continue her sessions with him. Dr. Arkham only made her have one session with him. To continue afterwards was her choice. And although it made her want to admit herself in the asylum, she actually wanted to have the Joker as her patient. At least until he treated her like the other doctors. But she doubt that would happen, because if it did he'd be back in solitary. And even though she'd never experienced it, she knew, solitary must have sucked.

She had to know the reason he wasn't as hard on her as he was on the others. Now that she wanted to pursue him, she also wanted to succeed. He had to feel close to her. She needs him to open up. This kind of success would take her places, and she knew it. Only problem was, how was she going to do it?

~''~''~

I'm sorry if this chapter was so short...and highly irrelevant. This is just a little thing i thought would happen between sessions. And i usually write short chapters, often 1000 words. the previous one was actually just two chapters that i combined and this one is just two mini chapters. anyways, next chapter harley and joker's going to be back in the examination room for their second session. then maybe after that i'll focus on harley more. tnx for reading and reviews and comments are always appreciated.


	4. Safety: Strictly for Dweebs Only

There was going to be another session today. She'd been anxious to meet her patient again. She had a sort of a bittersweet excitement. Like the kid who had been studying non-stop for an upcoming test. Who couldn't wait to get the highest score in his class. Who would die of embarrassment and disappointment if he failed. She didn't want to fail. Today was like Christmas for her. If Santa was a psychopathic, murdering, clown-themed weirdo who wears a purple suit. Who wears a purple suit, anyways?

She drove to work everyday, and arrived at eight o'clock sharp. She kept a tight schedule that she rarely ever changed. Aside from the work, work, and more work that she does, there's really nothing else on her agenda. It seems that so much had changed since she graduated. Partying and drinking were just some of the things she left in the dorm room. She was all the more matured now. She opted for a bun instead of the pony tail she sported before. Glasses were a key difference too. Though, they really weren't relevant in any way, she just wanted to wear them for the sake of it.

She entered the gates of Arkham, presented her ID, and parked her car. She continued inside the building and proceeded to her office on the third floor. As she held out her hand to open the door, she heard a familiar voice. A female one.

"Harleen,"

Harley turned around to see the doctor, one she didn't have a particular liking for.

"Joan," she greeted with a forced, sarcastic smile.  
"You didn't tell me about your new patient." Joan said, arms folder above her chest.  
"Wh-why? Why do you need to know?"

Joan seemed to have gotten offended by the question and displayed a look of slight shock. There was a silence as the two doctors had what seemed like a staring contest. Joan decided to break it.

"Why not?" the dark-skinned doctor said. "I was your mentor when you got here. I trained you when you were still an intern." she reminded. "I think I deserve to know what you're getting yourself into."  
"If memory serves, I remember you telling me that I was a joke, and that I wouldn't last a month here." Harley raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't ring a bell to you?"  
"Harleen, you get nothing from living in the past. It's done." she held up her hands. "Forget about it."  
"Then why don't you just apologize, hmm?"  
"Let's just forget about it, okay?"  
"No. Just…just an apology. That's all. "  
"Harleen, let's j-"  
"Seriously, what's so hard about an apology?" Harley interrupted. "Why can't you just say two simple words? You know what? Just complete my sentence, okay? I am…" she pointed at Joan, who wasn't amused in the slightest.

"Leaving"

Joan turned around and left without another word. Harley stood there, amazed at the woman's arrogance. What was so hard about a simple _I'm sorry_?

She shook it out of her mind and turned back at the door. She exhaled loudly as she twisted the knob and continued inside.

There was a folder on her desk. She didn't remember leaving anything last night, so she knew it wasn't hers.

"What's with you and Joan?"

She knew that voice. That was Doctor Jeremiah Arkham, director of Arkham Asylum.

She sighed. "I dunno with her." She smiled. "Maybe she's just jealous." She turned to face him.  
"Well," he chuckled. "She has no reason to be. She turned down the offer."  
She was quite surprised by the statement. "You…oh. I guess she thought I'd do the same." She chuckled. "Hey, wait a minute. How come she had the right to refuse?" she folded her arms, an eyebrow raised.  
"Well, I…I just didn't bother to argue with her."  
"Oh. Gotcha."

She looked back at her desk, eyeing the folder.

"I, uh…thought you should have that. If I was gonna let you be, you know, _his_ doctor, I thought you oughta know him first."

She realized what it was. She pulled it closer to her face, examining it. Something about it told her _no_. But as she stared at it further, she got even more curious. What was inside it wasn't pretty, she knew that, at the least. _But safety's for dweebs_. She couldn't quite remember where she had heard that line.

She decided to open the folder. Inside were some newspaper clippings.

"We got everything that happened since the people first laid eyes on him." he noticed the article Harley was holding." His first robbery as the Joker. Though, he could have done more before he took the persona." She took out a handful of the cutouts and widened her eyes at them. "His first recorded murder. Not pretty." She took another one and read the headline. "I remember that one, that was the day we started to recognize him as a genuine threat. _Clown threatens to poison water reservoir_." She looked at the next one and he chuckled. "_Batman stops the Joker_. Heh. _Clown still at large_. A lot of first times that day. First time we were actually afraid of him. And the first time Gotham became sure of Batman's existence. Things were never quite the same since." He lifted his arm, checking his watch. "Well, I gotta go. You can keep that. I have it on my computer." He turned towards the door. "You're gonna need it, Harleen. Just a little dose of reality."

"Yeah…yeah," she waved goodbye at the doctor. "Thanks."

Dr. Arkham left and Harley kept staring at the articles. One said something about thirty-six dead people that laid in a pool of their own blood at Gotham park. What made them suspect the Joker were the glasgow grins the victims sported. And the occasional _bang_ flag on their chest supported the theory. There was a picture of the crime scene. Not from the newspaper, an actual photograph. Much to her regret, she had to look at it. Her eyes widened at the sight. It wasn't only the gore of the scene, but the thought of what had happened that night, that terrified her. The article said that the murders all happened in no more than three hours. She wondered if the Joker could have had a whole gang of people who were willing to do that task. To her, it seemed like a job only mentally-ill people would commit. And she deals with people like that everyday. But what if _his_ people refused? Could he, himself, have killed everyone of those poor victims? Apparently some of those victims have actually been seen working with the Joker. Could those have been the ones that refused?

She kept reading on. Clipping-after-clipping, the terror seemed to build up. Never had she seen such displays of violence and insanity. Some pictures she refused to look at, and left it to her imagination to picture what had happened. The only thing she didn't like about leaving it up to her imagination was the fact that it made her picture _how_ they happened. And that was even more terrifying than the end result.

She decided she'd had enough. Enough stories had been read to give her nightmares for the remainder of the year. She didn't realize she was gaping until she closed the folder. _What did I just read?_

__,,__

It was twelve o'clock, and she was on her lunch break. _Boy, did Arkham choose the wrong time to give me those,_ she thought. He could have at least given her those articles _after_ lunch. Didn't he know how inconsiderate of a thing that was?

At the employees canteen, she took her sandwich out of the fridge. She immediately regretted making a ham sandwich with blood red ketchup that formed a smile. That was completely inappropriate. But then again, it _did_ kind of seem _perfectly_ appropriate.

She wiped the ketchup-shaking off the image of blood-from the ham and put the bread back on top. Her stomach seemed to struggle to keep the food down as she took her first bite and swallowed it. She realized it wasn't just the articles that made her sick, but it also seemed to have brought up some old painful memories from her past. Ones she thought she'd taken care of back in therapy. Mainly, that was the reason she sought to become a therapist herself. Though, she didn't expect to come across something this familiar. There were going to be violent stories, she knew that. But she thought it wouldn't be this much this early.

In the middle of her fourth bite, she decided to stop. Her appetite was completely far gone. She had to get herself occupied. Too much fear in her mind wasn't good. Especially before a session with her latest patient. There was still about fifty minutes left in her break, and the kid in her wanted to spend it outside, much like she did in her youth. But the more matured _Harleen_ wanted to read a book or do something that was actually productive.

Back in her office, she kept a few books in her reach to pass the time. This time was no different. She took out a book and picked up where she left off.

~''~''~

Sorry this wasn't the Joker-Harley session you expected. I just had to throw this in there. I thought there wasn't enough Harley alone time. Don't worry, next chapter we get to see Joker again. It's just gonna start with the session immediately. Also I'll get more into that "painful memory" a little bit later. I'll throw it in there once it slips out of everyone's mind. Not that I have some actual way of knowing that.

If you think there are things i need to improve at in my writing, please do point it out

Also, please don't be disappointed if it takes me longer to update the next chapters. You never know, I might suddenly start to actually study. So if such a thing were to happen, I'm gonna have less time to write.

Oh, and what do you guys think? Should I end this fic once she becomes Harley Quinn, or should I continue after that?


	5. Stop the Howling

"So, Mister Joker, where did we leave off?"

Her strapped patient simply grinned at the question. Something that reminded her of two things: the articles; and their last session.

"Oh," she looked away. "_That._"

The Joker forced his smile away. "Hey, Doc," he started. "Listen. I, uh…" he opened his cuffed hands as his doctor looked back. "Look," he licked his lips. "_I. Am. Sorry._" he said, emphasizing each word, and much to Harleen's amazement. "Ya' see…that was a very rude thing I said. Look, I didn't _mean_ anything by it. It was…well, it was just a joke. A _bad_ one at that."

His doctor tried to hide a faint smile as she looked down and wrote on her notepad. Though, he could see even the faintest of smiles. Also, he could read upside down.

"Your, uh…that thing you press at the end of the pen,"

He also had common sense.

"Yeah, that…isn't even pressed." she looked at her pen. "Doc, not to brag or anything, but…tricks don't work on me. I know your not writing anything." The doctor smiled at the comment, and he extended his arms and gestured at it. "That's it. See? Don't try to hide your smile. Trying to hide it is _pathetic_. You wouldn't want that would you?"

"I guess not." she chuckled.

"Now, Doc…why don't we forget about…whatever it was that I was apologizing for, okay? Let's—let's do that, hmm?"

"Sure, Mister Joker."

She sat up straight and cleared her throat. "So…" she flipped through her notes. "Didn't we have a deal last time?"

Suddenly, the _deal _entered her mind.

_Shit._

"Oh, _that? _Completely forgot about it. Something about…ahem, being fair?"

She cursed inwardly, both at him and at herself for bringing up the topic. She closed her notepad and leaned in closer as her hands clasped together. Exhaling loudly, she said, "What do we want today? Something about me or you?"

"You know what? Let's do both. I'll, uh…" he licked his lips. "Answer a question, tell you a little something, then _you_ do the same. That alright?"

The question wasn't necessary, in her opinion. She didn't feel the need to answer it. "Your rules, right?"

"Well_, not _if _you _don't agree." he explained. "So…"

"So, _what_?"

He huffed in slight annoyance. "Ask me something, Doc."

"Oh. Well, what do you feel like sharing? And no, that's not the question."

"You see, Doc, the point of asking a question is to get something that _you_ want. Why ask what _I _want?" he starred at his feet as he twiddled his thumbs. "Fine. You know what? I'll start the question-asking, hmm?"

She sighed, and nodded in submission.

He closed his eyes as he looked up at the ceiling. She knew that look. He was either trying to think of what to ask, or how to ask it. He twirled a finger around, and pointed up when he had decided. "Hmm," he chuckled.

"You know what, Doc? I'm not even gonna insult you by asking a personal question."

Dr. Quinzel sat back in relief, but became uneasy when she thought about the Joker's sympathy. As far as anyone knows, he didn't _have_ any.

"We're here for my therapy, right? For me to get…_'better'_? So, _I _need to cooperate." He let out a soft sigh. "Ya' know what would make me _feel_ better, Doc? I want to _knooow_…what you think about me."

She had an answer immediately. Say something that would make him feel better about himself. But something told her he wasn't one who appreciated well-sugarcoated lies.

"I think you're misunderstood." Well, it was worth a shot, wasn't it?. "You only do those things because…you're angry at the world. You feel alienated and this is the way you get back at everybody."

"Oh, okay." He said in an understanding tone. "Now," he paused for a while. "Any way you could remove the lies out of that? Or will that leave nothing but the punctuation marks?" He smirked.

She exhaled loudly in annoyance. "What do you want me to say then, Mister Joker."

"I dunno." He raised his shoulders. "How about what you _really_ feel? You see, Doc…everyone treats me like—and believes for a fact that I _am_, ya' know…crazy. I mean, _why_? What's so _bad_ about the things I do? Is it _wrong _to have _fun_. What do you think, Doc? Am I crazy or…" He waited for a retort, for her to say that she thought differently.

_Lie to me_.

"That-that would be it. Everyone thinks you're crazy, right? Well, that's _my_ diagnosis."

He was a bit amused by her answer. Any other doctor would have lied. The world was filled with liars. And he was no exception. He expected her to stand by her previous statement, but now that she didn't, things were more fun all of the sudden.

"Heh." He chuckled. "Ya' know, Doc…I like you." He straightened himself, sighing as he flexed his muscles. "You make me laugh."

Dr. Quinzel felt her cheeks heat up and instinctively looked down, trying to force away her smile. "I highly doubt that." She said.

"And," he raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

She looked back at her patient. "My sense of humor is far different than yours." She said frankly.

"Well it wasn't your sense of humor that made me laugh, Doc. It was _you_ being you."

Her smile disappeared and replaced with a confused look. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno." He said plainly, shrugging. "Just…there's something different about you, Doc. Dunno what it is but…I, uh, feel it in my gut."

"Well, Mister Joker," she cleared her throat. "While you try and figure out that gut feeling of yours, why don't I ask the questions this time." She said, straight to the point.

"Well…if that's how it's got to be, Doc."

"I don't want to step into any uncharted territory, so if there's anything you don't want me to ask, tell me now."

He exhaled loudly. "My whole life _is_ uncharted territory." He bit his lower lip as he twiddled his thumbs. "So…how does that work?" He widened his eyes.

"Well, in that case…" she scribbled on her notepad. "Just tell me what you don't want to talk about. I don't want you feeling uncomfortable or anything."

"Well…as long as we don't talk about my father." His eyebrow twitched.

"Sure, Mister Joker." She said, seemingly and surprisingly uninterested_. He _was definitely surprised. "We won't be going there for now. In fact, I'm not going to ask anything about yourself or your past even. Really, all I wanna know for now is how we can make your stay here in Arkham as comfortable as possible. I mean, we need you to get better, and we're not gonna get there unless-"

"I actually like it here?" He presumed.

"Well, yeah." She said.

"Aww…you do care, Doc. It warms my heart. Really." He tapped his right hand over his left chest.

She chuckled. "So," she said, trying to stir the conversation. "Your answer, Mister Joker." She said, almost demandingly.

"Well, Doc," he started. "Every time I see therapy sessions on TV, _I never_ see the patient chained. I mean like…_here's a couch. It's gonna make you feel calm. Also, we've put straps on it, completely customized to make you feel restricted 'cause we don't trust you. And for an added bonus, here's a pair of handcuffs._ You know what I mean, Doc?"

"So you want out of the straps? You want to move freely?"

"Yes. Ya' know, _if_ possible."

"You know that I can't do that. Not now, at least. You're gonna have to prove yourself first. You need to earn my trust, Mister Joker."

He sighed. "I thought you'd say that. At least now I have goals. What's life without goals, right?" He said cheerfully. "Hey, you know, Doc…how about, uh…instead of Doctor Quinzel, can I call you Doctor Quinn instead?"

"Quinn?"

"_Doctor_ Quinn." He corrected. "Yeah, kinda has a nice ring to it."

"Fine. I guess that would be okay."

"So, Doctor Quinn?"

"Yes. Doctor Quinn it is." She said, smiling.

"Great. Another thing…"

She knew what he was going to say, so she beat him to it."No, Mister Joker. I'm not going to call you J."

He exhaled loudly at her answer. "Fair enough. Baby steps then."

Yes, baby steps. Exactly what she was thinking too. _We'll get into the more graphic stuff later_, she thought.

"Mister Joker, I was wondering…how and _why_ did you choose your alias." She said as she held her breath, waiting for a reaction.

"Well, um…" He started. "When you have looks like mine," he waved his hand over his face, licking the side of his lips. "You get some…funny ideas about what you want to be. You wanna know how I got these scars?" He asked, as he did with most other people.

"Not really." She replied, bravely. False or not, it was still bravery. "The way I see it, Mister Joker, those scars have nothing to do with anything." She continued. "I think, it's the memories they brought you. Am I right? Do you associate memories with those, um…scars?"

He stared at his doctor, dumbfounded at her longer than expected and/or wanted answer. A soft sigh escaped his lips and he replied, "I just wanted a yes or no answer." He remarked, with only a hint of sarcasm.

She chuckled at his answer. "No. I don't, Mister Joker." She said, scribbling down on her notepad.

Still, he was amazed at the answer. Only slightly amazed, but more or less, still amazed. Most people would want an answer…or just wouldn't respond to the question. Either way, he always had a story about his scars. So much, in fact, that even he didn't know which was made up and which wasn't. But maybe he didn't care, or he didn't want to remember. Most people would want an explanation, something to blame. Maybe the scars are the key to his mental state. Or maybe it was completely irrelevant. Either way, he loved those scars. They were his. And they were his forever.

"And, uh…dare I ask—you don't have to answer if you don't want to—how _did_ you get your skin bleached."

It seemed that her 'baby steps' were completely forgotten about. But then again, this was just barely scratching the surface. The real questions start when she finally gets inside his head.

"Um…uh…I had a—this really _soothing_ chemical bath." He said smugly.

"What kind of chemical bath?" She asked, leaning closer, looking her patient in the eye.

"A soothing one, Doc Quinn." He replied, returning the gesture with a grin.

They looked each other in the eye. She had a look that showed annoyance, and he had a look that showed a mixture of amusement, sarcasm, and confidence. A lethal expression he liked to display so often. Harleen balled her hands into a fist, squeezing her flesh until the skin became white, purple even. She hated arrogance. And he had it sprayed all over him. They continued the stare until she decided to break it by looking away.

She sighed through slightly gritted teeth. "Fair enough, Mister Joker."

She _did_ tell him that he didn't need to answer if he didn't feel like it.

"You want me to recommend you my dermatologist? He was the one that advised it." He raised an eyebrow.

"No thanks, Mister Joker." She said, slightly sarcastic.

"What's the matter?" He asked softly. "Oh, I get it. You think I'm ugly, do you? You know, they…_they_ always called me a freak…just 'cause I looked different. What do you think, Doc?"

"Well I…I don't think looking differently or strangely makes you a freak." She answered.

"You're just saying that."

"No I'm not, Mister Joker." She insisted.

"So you _don't_ think I'm a freak? How nice." He smirked.

"That's what I want to think, but your acts say otherwise."

The Joker's smile faded at her statement. He sighed as he turned away from his doctor, resulting into him being in an awkward position due to his arms being strapped.

"Hey, Doc…" He started softly, in a seemingly sad voice. "Do you think I'm evil? I mean, if evil _did_ actually exist, do you think I have that?" He asked, _almost_ sincerely.

The doctor was speechless. To say that he was evil was not a good way to help his therapy. To say otherwise would be tolerating him. She wasn't one to tolerate. Usually she was brutally honest, especially with her patients. It was something most doctors didn't like about her.

"You asked me so…" She started, hesitantly tensing up. "Yes. I would say that. _But_," She immediately added. "That doesn't automatically mean that, uh…you _are_. I mean, who am I to say, right?"

He nodded slowly, in manner that said _I know you're just trying to make me feel better. I'm not stupid_. "It's just that…I just _do_ things, see? I don't really have a reason or _justification _for the things I do. Kinda just an impulsive feeling I have in the pit of my stomach." He explained.

"I see." She said, trying to hide her enthusiasm. "And is that _feeling _in your stomach painful?"

"Yeah." He answered.

"So…does it go away after you, uh…_do _it?"

"No. Actually I just get more of it. It's like candy. It's a rush. Like adrenaline coursing through your body while your blood—or anyone's blood—starts flowing. I guess I, uh…I guess you could call me a junkie for all that."

She was amazed at the answer. There was no way for her to find out if it was true or not, but he had no reason to lie. But then again, he just admitted that it was all impulsive. There _was _no rhyme or reason to the things he did. Not that she had any way to know if that weren't just lies either.

"You're addicted?" She asked.

He sighed. "Yeah." He turned back to her. "Like sugar."

"And…do you think _that's_ your problem?"

"That's the thing, Doc…I don't think I have a problem. Is _that_ my problem?" He asked, this time, with a hint of sarcasm.

"Maybe." She noticed that she wasn't taking down notes, and began to scribble down on her notepad.

"How about you, Doc? Why do you do what you do?" He asked, slightly smiling afterwards.

"I already told you, didn't I?" She answered. "I became a psychologist because I think everyo—"

"Why, Doc. How did you come up with the thought that _everyone _is just a few steps away from crossing the street to insanity?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm saying is…what made you think that way?"

"Just…from experience."

"Experience?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. With patients, I mean." She added quickly.

"Oh. Spending time in the loony bin. But that would suggest that you only gained interest in the field of, uh… _mental _therapy _after _you became a doctor." He pointed out with a smirk that said _yeah, right_.

"Fine." She said, submitting. "I'd undergone therapy before. That's the reason I became interested in mental disorders, alright?" Her voice raised a little bit with an irritant tense.

_"_Why? What did you do?" He said, facing the ceiling as his grin grew larger by the second.

"Let's not talk about that, Mister Joker, okay?" She requested.

"Sure, Doc." He said. "After all that concern and consideration you showed for me…my guess is…I should reciprocate that kindness, you know what I mean?"

"I do. Thanks." She smiled.

"No, Doc Quinn…_thank_ you."


	6. Escaped the Deck

As the session ended, Harleen picked up her writing utensils and put them back in her purse. She stood up, said goodbye to her patient, and began walking towards the door. Stopping for a moment, she turned her head back to smile at her patient, who was having a staring contest with the floor at the time.

"Bye," the Joker said, turning his head up to meet her gaze. "Doctor Quinn."

She turned back to the door knocked; an orderly on the other side opened it. She nodded at them and proceeded towards the elevator.

Harleen replayed the session in her head as she pressed the appropriate button on the elevator panel. The Joker said quite a bit for their second session—or any session, for that matter. He rarely even said more than two words to anybody since he got detained. Of course, for all she knew he could have been lying about everything. It wasn't surprising. After all, he _is_ the Joker.

But she couldn't help but think that he wasn't lying. Something told her he was sincere. Sometimes, she'd forget about her training and forget about common sense and just trusts her guts. It seemed to work most of the time, but Doctor Arkham just didn't appear to have ever approved of it. "It's risky and stupid," he said. Of course, Harley understood why that is, especially in a work environment like this, but when you're treating the insane, sometimes you have to let go of a little logic and do with your guts, no matter how zany and outlandish it might be.

And Harley knew what the others thought about her. Joan couldn't be the only one in the Asylum convinced that she screwed around with her professors to earn her doctorate. Not that she _didn't _do it. She hung out with the wrong crowd. If not for them, she would have studied more and got through college without losing an ounce of dignity. But of course, she'd also be broke and forced to drop out. If only she had spent more time finding a sponsor for a full scholarship. But the fact that she got at least a fifty percent one meant that she wasn't just a pretty face who decided to become a shrink. She didn't even know why a dumb blonde—as they thought she was—would be interested in the field. It seemed…dumb.

On the way to her office, she passed the cells of a few familiar faces. Each one she had treated at least once; none of which she had finished with. She didn't spend the amount of effort and time she did to get her Psy. D, and get a job as a psychotherapist just to get transferred to a new patient every few weeks. In the span of time she worked in Arkham, which was _way _short, she must have been transferred seven times. Seriously, if Doctor Arkham didn't trust her, then why keep her? And why is she now assigned to the crown prince—or _clown _prince—of serial killers?

Sure, she was glad that she was living her lifelong dream of getting into the minds of the insane, but she just couldn't help but wonder why she still had her job when her boss apparently doesn't approve of her methods. Was Doctor Arkham really just desperate? There _was_ a strong lack of applicants in Arkham. And the addition of the Joker alone turns off most people.

She had to admit to herself, she was a _bit_ obsessed with the criminal mind. Heck, she used to read about murder stories in the newspaper while her brothers read about people in leotards climbing on walls and jumping off rooftops. Sure, she loved a good superhero story, but mostly because of all the crazy stuff the villains resort to just to get what they wanted. Whether it was money, power, or just plain fun, she seemed to really enjoy those whacky characters.

By nine o'clock, she had already finished her notes on her patient and decided to take off for the night. It wasn't a long ride to her apartment. The elevator was still out of order so she took the stairs up instead. After inserting and twisting her key, she proceeded inside of the place she had never grown to call home. She never quite seemed to feel at home no matter where she sought to find it.

Entering her room, she put her purse on top of the chair in front of her desk, almost throwing it. For some reason, she was very tired today. She didn't even have time to take a warm bath as she usually would. After changing into her pajamas, she took of her glasses, set it atop of her bedside table, and finally, she retired for the day, treasuring that rare Gotham quietness as she stared at the blank wall until her eyelids fell and sleep took its way.

* * *

Sometime later, Harley heard the strange sound of bells and chimes. Getting past her dreams, she found out it was only the doorbell. Eyes still shut, she debated to herself whether she should get up or not. A yawn escaped her lips as she stretched out her arms. Blinded by the sun entering through open curtains, she fumbled for her slippers and went out of her room and continued towards her apartment door.

She passed by a clock and gathered that it was a little pass lunchtime already. Upon opening the door, she was surprised by the lack of people on the other side. Instead, a box took their place and she immediately had the impulse to shut the door and go back to her habit of lazy Saturday morning—or afternoon—oversleeping. But something stopped her, and she lifted it up to bring inside. She closed the door shut and set the package on the table before looking for something sharp enough to open it. She settled for a pair of scissors and opened it up to see what was inside.

It was a playing card…A _joker_ card.

She gaped at the sight. She didn't know what it meant or who sent it, but if it was anything like the stories she had read, then it meant 'not good'.

Picking it up, she examined it closely. There was nothing really special about it. An ordinary playing card was all it was.

For her, it could only mean two things: a death threat, or a sick joke. And as much as she'd like to kill the sender if it was the case, she hoped it was a sick joke. At least then she didn't have to worry to much about surviving the night.

She took it into her room. She pulled out her notepad from her bag and slid the card in between the pages. Maybe she could bring it up in one of their sessions, assuming that she would survive that long and that this wasn't anything like the death threat she thought it was. All would be fine if that was the case, right?

She shook the card out of her head and took the box away. It wasn't a really big box but it could probably hold around thirty-two packs of cards. It was a complete waste of space.

The thought of empty space reminded her that she was hungry. She would have returned to bed but the surprise package she got woke her up like a bucket of ice-cold water. So, instead, she went to the kitchen and searched the cabinets. She found a box of her favorite cereal and opened the fridge to take out a carton of milk.

She picked up the remote that was on the kitchen table and turned on a small TV that sat by a window. After pouring some milk and cereal—and trying to decide what to do with the toy she found with it—into a bowl, she changed the channel to the news…

"_I repeat, do not approach this person."_ The reporter said. "_If you see him, please get out of the area immediately. We have witnessed his attack on Gotham; and for those who didn't, his reputation is not in any way exaggerated."_

Confused about who the reporter was talking about, she read the caption…and she gasped.

"_For those just tuning in, the serial killer known as the Joker had just escaped Arkham Asylum last night."_

She stood up in shock, accidentally pushing the bowl of cereal off the table. "No," she muttered.

"_Police reports have stated that the escape happened through the air vents. Details are still very vague and we could only speculate how he could have done it, but one thing is for sure: we need to prepare ourselves for the worst. If possible, please get out of the city as soon as you can. If you can remember the last time the Joker was loose on our streets, Gotham was in complete chaos. And—"_

She turned it off, growing tired of the reporter. Staring at the mess of spilled milk and cereal on the floor, she tried to take in the situation and where she stood in it. Immediately, she had made up her mind. After getting her purse and the nearest jacket she could find, she went out of the building and started up her car. Chills ran down her spine as she sped through the streets that had been emptied out by the people smart enough to hide inside their houses.

She was heading for Arkham. For now, that was all she knew.

The drive felt like forever. When she had finally arrived, she had no hesitation as she hurried through the doors and headed for the basement, where her patient's isolated cell was. She hoped that the news was some kind of bad joke—no matter how _absurd_ the thought was—as she ran to the cell. She peaked through the small window and saw that the Joker wasn't there.

Harley let out a loud sigh as she looked down at the floor and tried to calm herself down. Her heart was about to burst out of her chest any second. She fell to the ground. She'd lost her patient, and she wasn't happy.

She heard footsteps and, not bothering to look up to see who it was, she asked, "How?"

The pair of feet stopped beside her. "He…escaped through the air vents." The voice was that of Doctor Arkham.

"How?" She repeated.

"It's…he—"

"Tell me…" she demanded, looking up at his eyes. "how it happened."

He hesitated. But he knew she deserved to know. "He…had this gas. Some kind of sick twist on laughing gas."

She chuckled in spite of herself. "Laughing gas."

"Yes." he said with a concerned tone. "A literal one. It made people laugh and grin uncontrollably. And it killed them in minutes. A lot of people died last night, Harley."

Harley looked away, locking her eyes on the empty cell. "How about you?"

Silence filled the room. Doctor Arkham took a step closer towards her. Then another…

"I, uh—we closed as much vents as we could, but the gas had already made its way halfway through the building. We called some of the police in to help in the search, but we lost most of them when they were ambushed near one of the Joker's old hideouts. They looked around this morning but the place was completely empty. They're still trying to find anything to trace his location, but for now…there's really nothing yet."

Her heart sank at the mention of death. And even more at the mention of the Joker. Two things she had heard so much of in the past week. She looked up. "I actually…" She started, then hesitated. "Nothing," She turned her head back to the floor. "forget it."

She decided not to tell him about the card. It would just make him worry if he thought of it in the same way she did.

"So…what now?" She asked with a sigh.

"I don't know. Most of the orderlies on duty yesterday and the ones we called in to control the situation are gone. Almost half of our doctors are gone. Even our funds are gone." The statement struck interest into her, he must've sensed it. "He—before he got here, we were on the verge of closing down…for good. But when the court decided to bring him here instead of Blackgate, we received funding from Wayne Enterprise. Apparently, Bruce Wayne was very interested in getting him cured." He exhaled loudly. "I doubt he'd still be giving us his money now that the Joker's gone."

"You mean your shutting down Arkham?"

"Unless someone wants to spend money on curing Tetch, we won't have enough to run the place for more than a week."

By now, her heart was completely broken. _That_ was her dreams just thrown out of the window. There was no other mental hospital as interesting as Arkham.

"Guess I'm gonna have to empty out my office now, huh?"

He let out an almost forced chuckle. "The sooner the better."

"Wait a minute." She looked up. "What's gonna happen to the patients? I mean, where are they all gonna go?"

"Well," he shifted his weight and rested against a wall. "all the other hospitals are full...they'll probably get shipped to Blackgate."

"Huh."

"How about you? Where are you going to go now? William's Medical?"

"Nah. Ruled that one out when they moved all the criminally troubled guys here and became a '_normal_' mental hospital."

"Metropolis then?"

"Maybe" She said, nodding as she took it to consideration.

"Well, I have some stuff I still need to do." He said, turning towards the elevator.

"Yeah. Good luck on…whatever your gonna be doing now that you life's work is completely gone." She said.

He chuckled. "You too."

"Oh, and by the way," he turned his head. "don't throw away that card. It might mean something."

Her eyes widened. He couldn't have known about the card unless _he _was the one who sent it. Or…if he got sent the same thing.

By the time she opened her lips to speak, Doctor Arkham had already made his way inside the elevator. And she watched confusedly as the doors slid shut.

For goodness sake, she hoped that he had little to do with all that was happening.

A few seconds later, a gunshot was heard. She stood up immediately and ran towards the elevator. As she went inside and waited to reach the floor up, there was another gunshot, and by the way things have been so far, she wished the day would just end.

The doors slid open and she saw Doctor Arkham sitting on the floor. He had a gun in his hand and was right beside another man, who lied on the floor in a pool of blood.

"Oh my God!"

He seemed to have ignored her as he played around with the gun. He shifted hands and continued to twist it around nervously.

"I killed him." He said. "I killed him, Harley."

"Oh no. Doctor Arkham…I…"

"I've never had to do that before…but…I didn't have a choice. He was going to shoot me." he pointed at the wall, where the first bullet had landed.

She walked towards him. Slowly, she took step-after-step, taking in everything.

"What's happening?" She asked.

"They—_he_ wants to kill us. I don't know why, but he does." The statement made her heart pump rapidly. She noticed the mask the man was wearing and gathered who he worked for. "He sent me a playing card. I didn't know what it meant but…I figured it was some kind of threat. Maybe I knew to much. Maybe he just wanted me gone. I thought maybe he wanted you out too." He said, dropping the gun.

"I got a card this morning." She admitted.

"No." He reacted. "Harley, he's out to get us. We are in some serious trouble." He was tensing up and his voice raised.

"Doctor, calm down." She started.

"The fucking Joker's out to kill us!"

"Well…_still_…calm down."

There was a third gunshot.

"No!" She screamed.

Doctor Arkham fell, and blood trickled unto the tiled floor.

She looked and behind her, where the bullet had come from, and her eyes locked on a familiar dark silhouette.

"She's right, Doc…you need to relax."

* * *

**_Author's notes:_**

_I apologize for not uploading this sooner. I try to keep my updates consistent but there was just a lot of __hindrances. I'll try to upload the next ones ASAP._


	7. Creeping Death

She was running. Where she was running to, the Joker didn't know. But she was running.

He kept chasing after her. No, not _chasing_, he was just following her. He wasn't even moving at her pace. He walked as if it was a stroll in the park.

He shot a bullet. Harley dived down clumsily, hitting the ground and avoiding the bullet.

"Hah! Nice one, Harley! Um, I mean, _Doctor_ Harley." He cackled. Her reflexes were amusing in the least. Being all cooped up in a cell didn't entertain him as much as being out and about, with screams of terror ringing in his ears.

Immediately, she got up and continue her run. She recovered pretty quickly, he thought. In his time, he'd seen people fall down and never get up. Fear filled them up and paralyzed them. And as tasty as that fear was, it was just pathetic. They didn't even put up a fight. It was so dull. So boring. But Harley wasn't like that. No, if he fired another round, she was sure to dodge it.

So he did.

As expected, she avoided making a mess of brains and blood on the floor; kept from becoming just another stain on the pavement. But that was exactly what he was going to turn her into. It was nothing personal really. It was only business. But to him, business took on a whole different meaning. Business time was fun time.

Harley was gaining some distance. She had powerful legs, good balance too. The way she fell earlier was just because of the fear building up inside of her. But he liked the fear in her. She used it to run faster. It was always more exciting that way.

"Come on, Harley! You can run faster!"

She seemed to take it as a command and began to speed up, approaching the door. "Please—why are you doing this!?"

"Why not?" he said. As if he was afraid to lose her, he began to run after Harley. Like an animal, he chased after her, with a grin on his face ,as he let go of the gun and took out a switchblade from his coat.

_Ah, knives_…it made him believe there was a God. He never quite got tired of using a knife. Sometimes he'd continue to stab people even after they had died. It always left a beautiful stain on the couch.

Harley wasn't the only one who could run fast. Within the span of a few seconds, the Joker had already cut the distance between them in half. Even meters away he could hear her heavy breathing become panicked breathing. _Tasty, tasty, tasty._

She turned around to check the distance between them. He heard a small shriek come out of her mouth and grinned.

_Big mistake_. She turned her head to look at him as she was nearing the door. She lost balance as she smashed into it and tripped on the threshold. The Joker had seen many people fall, and hers wasn't good; Broken arm, at the least. She tried to stop her fall by extending her arms, but her hand slipped as she hit the ground and her whole body landed on her right arm. Even worse, she tried to get up _using _the broken arm. _Is she really trying to maim herself?_ He was sure she heard her own arm break. But he couldn't blame her, it was _fear _after all.

"Uh oh." He slowed down, waving his knife teasingly. "Always look at where you're going, Doc." He cackled.

"Please, don't kill me." She said.

He walked slowly. There was no need for him to hurry anymore. Right now, Harley was nothing but a fly trapped in a web. She would wait until the spider came to eat her.

He finally reached her. He stopped beside her head, and crouched down to see her face. "What's wrong, Doc? You didn't think I'd go without saying goodbye to my dear ol' Doctor Quinn now, did you?" He stroked her hair, then pulled on it, and lifted her head up. "Why? Aren't you, ah…happy to see me? Hmm?"

"Mister Joker…please."

"Now, Doc, _begging_…" he licked his lips. "It isn't becoming." He grinned, shaking a finger disapprovingly.

"Why do you want to kill me?"

"Kill you? Why do I want to kill you? Why not!? Ya' see…" He flicked the knife, letting the blade out. "I don't appreciate people poking into my life. Not. One. Bit." he said, letting the words roll out of his tongue. He pushed her head down against the ground, and stroked the blade against her cheek, letting her feel the cold, hard metal. "I've already dealt with the others. You're the last one on my list." He pressed the tip of the blade lightly against her skin. Slowly, she began to bleed. She bit her lip, stopping herself from screaming. But he knew it wasn't because of the pain. No, pain was bearable. She was scared. The blood was one thing, the clown look was another. It was just the effect he wanted.

The blood dripped to her lips. It mixed with her tears, and entered her mouth in small amounts. If only _he _could taste that.

As he was enjoying the little mark he was creating on Harley's clean, smooth face, he felt something. It was something only _he_ felt. It was the presence of someone, someone _not _boring. It was the same feeling he had a few years back. The same one he had a few hours before he was caught and thrown into Arkham.

"Bats." he whispered to himself. But no, something about it felt different to him. It wasn't Batman. No, he knew Batman more than anyone, maybe more than Batman knew himself; This wasn't him.

The Joker stood up, completely ignoring Harley. He looked around, searching for his new 'playmate'.

"Come out. I know you're their."

He heard something from inside the building. As he headed for the door, he accidentally stepped on Harley's hand. The small squeal from her mouth reminded him of her presence. He looked at her body, laying flat on the ground, completely helpless. "Be a doll and stay, alright, peaches?" He flicked his knife around and, after deciding that she wasn't going to run away, he continued on inside.

All lights were off. Someone was definitely there. It was the Batman's MO. Except the Batman didn't—never—came out in the day. The Joker was convinced that he was some kind of vampire who slept in the day. He laughed at the thought. It wasn't a silent laugh. It was the kind that would make anyone who saw think that he was crazy. It was the exact show that he liked to put on. That's all it was: a show. No one really knew the Joker.

"You're a copy cat, you know that?" he said, his voice echoing in the dark silence. "This whole…turning off the lights and fighting a poor, lanky guy in the dark is _his_ shtick. Get your own gimmick. Bat's his, clown's mine—what's yours?"

There was no response. He found it annoyingly rude.

"Silent treatment? Ya' know, I have a talent to make you shit yourself, that can give you nightmares, Batfake. I'll introduce you to my—"

As if suddenly realizing something, he looked back through the door behind him. "Sonovabitch." he whispered to himself through gritted teeth.

The doctor was gone. Whoever was there, who turned off the lights, took Harley.

He approached the door slowly and stiffly, anger painted all over his face.

_No Batman. No Harley. No fun._

He looked around him. "Come on now." He jerked his wrist around, playing with the knife between his fingers.

"Ya' know…" He licked his lips. "It's a real bitch thing to do…to steal a guy's date and leave without another word. Or…even a single word to start with. It's not polite, see?"

He paced in a circle, closing his eyes and listening closely. He sighed at the realization that his craving for something exciting was so _pathetic_. And the fact that his playthings are gone made him bite his lip until he tasted blood. Which made him crave even more.

* * *

She gained consciousness. She almost thought she was in her room, but the strange texture of her lying place convinced her that she wasn't in a warm bed. Her eyes flickered. She wasn't even in her apartment. She was on a rooftop. She sat up and gathered that she was on top of Arkham Asylum. Looking around, she tried to remember what had happened before she lost consciousness. And tried to decide whether or not it was a dream.

"You're not dreaming."

She turned around when she heard the voice. It came from a young man, only a little bit taller than she was. He was clad in a black and blue, armor-like, skintight outfit. And an eye mask kept his identity a secret.

"You're not Batman, are you?" She asked.

The man chuckled. "Nope. Nightwing." he said, holding up his hand.

_Nightwing_, she mouthed, grabbing his hand. "Harlee—"

"Doctor Harleen Quinzel. Yeah, I know you."

She smiled at him. "So…you saved me, huh? Thanks." she said, letting go of his hand.

"No problem."

"Hey, I'm glad you're here and all, but where's Batman? I mean, isn't he like the Joker's archenemy and all?"

"He's tracking him down, actually."

"Oh." she said, nodding.

"_Also_, you gotta be out of the city ASAP."

"Yeah," she chuckled. "I figured. Um…you know him? The Joker, I mean. You've been around long enough?"

"Nobody knows what goes on inside that skull of his. He's been around for years. I was here the first time anybody laid eyes on him. Guy's crazy as hell."

"You think he knows what he's doing?"

"I dunno. Maybe. He has a brain inside his head, no doubt. Not just clever, I mean real smarts."

"He seeks revenge a lot?"

"Revenge? No. Fun? Definitely."

Harley forced out a smile. "_That _did not make feel better."

"Didn't think it would." he chuckled.

"Yeah." she laughed.

"Hey…You think you can help a damsel in distress with some boxes?"

* * *

A cab parked in front of her apartment. Harley had just got into the cab. She wasn't sure where to go, but she knew anywhere was better than where she was now. A place that was a little bit friendlier would definitely be an improvement.

"Where to, ma'am?" The driver asked.

"Outside of Gotham please. As fast as possible. I'll decide where to go from there."

"Sure, miss. Don't forget your seat belt. The cop's don't really care but better safe than sorry."

She chuckled as she followed the advice.

Traffic was a big problem, especially after six thirty, but when the Joker was loose, people tend to stay in their homes, doors locked, and hope for the best.

It was such a different sight to see the streets so empty. She definitely was trying to adjust to the sight and…just the general ambiance really. Everything was so calm. No shouting, fighting, stealing—nothing. It was as if everyone got…disciplined.

"Most people are hiding in there houses right now, you know." The man driving behind the wheel said.

"Yeah," she chuckled. "Yeah, I know. I just wanna get outta here as soon as possible."

"Running away, ma'am?"

"Hmm, guess you could say that." She smiled.

"Well, we're almost to the bridge. Know where you're heading yet?"

"Not really."

"Don't know what you're gonna do now, huh?"

"I have a few ideas."

"Hmm." The driver adjusted the rear-view mirror, allowing them to see each other's face. "Why don't you join the circus?"

"Oh, God." Harley muttered.

The driver sped up. Turning his head, he showed his oddly white complexion and blood red grin.

"No." She said, taking off her seatbelt. "No! Get away from me!"

He got off his seat and let go of the steering wheel, letting the car go awry.

"You didn't think I'd let the night finish without getting our dance, did you?" The Joker took a switchblade out of the glove compartment and waved it in front of Harley's face. Cupping his hand under her chin and pressing his fingers on one cheek and thumb on the other, he stroked her hair with his knife hand. Unlike earlier that day, her hair was in a pony tail, and it smelled like…coconuts.

"Why do you keep coming back?" She said with difficulty, as the Joker was pressing at her cheeks. "Why do you keep on trying to—Ack!"

He slapped her with the back of his knife hand, slightly cutting her clean cheek. "Did I say you can talk? Hmm?" He said energetically. "See, when I make a promise…I damn well _do _that. I'm a man of my word. So when I say…I'm coming after everyone who tried—and failed—to get into my head, you could be sure that I'm _very _glad to oblige."

The car was shaking out of control but not enough to break his grip on her or pull his anchored feet off the floor.

The car stopped all of the sudden, slightly making him lose his balance and grip on Harley. She took the opportunity to kick him in the stomach and he fell back.

"Yer not gonna make this easy, are you?" The Joker said.

He threw the knife at Harley. Seeing the incoming projectile, she dived down to dodge it, letting the knife stick itself on the car seat.

He got up, and pounced on her. She shrieked as he took the knife from the seat and waved it teasingly in front of her.

Suddenly, the car began to rise. It was rising from the ground as if being pulled by the tail. Harley displayed a look of fear and confusion. The Joker simply grinned.

He held her tightly, letting her rest her back against his chest and positioning his knife right beside her head. "Hush hush hush, Pumpkin." He held her mouth. "You're gonna have to let mom and dad talk, okay?"

They continued to rise up. The car was completely vertical now, and they were in an awkward position. But what was more uncomfortable for her was being this close to the Joker. She was on top of him. She could feel his chest expanding every time he inhaled. And she felt the air come out of his mouth and hit her neck and shoulder every time he exhaled. She could feel his entire body heating up as if his blood was literally boiling. And she didn't even want to think about what she felt between his legs.

The car stopped at what she guessed was around seven stories high. The door of the car was pulled open from the outside and a man garbed in black was revealed. His stance was strong and solid as his cape flowed behind him. The bat insignia on his chest gleamed as the light hit it. Much in the same way the Joker's eyes did.

"It was about time you caught on." The Joker said, stepping out of the car and unto the rooftop, still grasping Harley.

"Put her down." The vigilante said gruffly.

"Straight to the _point_, huh, aren't ya'?" The Joker said, letting the knife go nearer beside Harley's head. "Sorry, Batsy, me and sweet cheeks here are kinda in the middle of something. Maybe you wanna join in."

"I'm already in. Let her go and no one get's harmed." He commanded.

"Nuh uh. You're gonna have to do better than that. See, persuasion is an art. And threat," he waved the knife. "Should be your greatest weapon."

"It is."

"Well, you better use it now. I can keep on doing this all night if I have to, but I'm not sure how she's holding up."

Grinning, he pressed the knife against her skin, just enough not to pierce it. But instead of the cheek like earlier, he went for the neck.

Oddly, Batman stood his place. Hardly flinching as the Joker pressed down harder, making Harley bleed.

The madman's smile fainted when he noticed that the vigilante wasn't leaving his ground. Looking Batman in the eyes, he smirked. "Batsy, Batsy…" He raised an eyebrow. "You little schemer."

From a nearby rooftop across the street, a batarang was shot and hit the Joker in the wrist just enough to wound him and not go through. He winced as he dropped the knife and lost grip on his hostage.

"Bull's-eye!" A voice said.

"What took you so long?" Batman said through the intercom, as he threw a punch at the distracted Joker.

"I was patrolling on the other side of the city." The man jumped off from his position. He grabbed the ends of his cape and used it as a glider, much like bird wings. "I haven't been in Gotham for like a year. Takes me some time to get into the groove of things."

Laughing maniacally, the Joker recovered from the blow and crouched down to avoid the next one. He picked up his knife and stabbed it in Batman's thigh, knocking him back a few inches. He spun around, and after flashing a brief smile, "Sorry things didn't work out as planned." he pushed Harley off the building.

Harley shrieked and instantly, Nightwing changed the direction of his flight and dived down, barely catching her in her fall.

She kept breathing heavily as the young man—for the second time—saved her life. It was such a rush for her as everything happened so quickly, yet allowing her to remember every small detail like it were a slideshow.

The Joker sighed at the sight of her _interrupted _fall and—as he sensed the Batman getting nearer—made another knife appear from his sleeve. He always boasted about the tricks up his sleeve.

He chuckled. "And I thought _three _was a crowd."

The vigilante grabbed him by the shoulder and the Joker spun around quickly, targeting Batman in the face with his knife.

The hero dodges, and swiftly sweeps the Joker's legs. The villain falls backwards with his head dangling just over the edge of the building. He kicks up his feet to hit Batman in the stomach, but the gruff man caught his feet and used it to throw him back, spending no effort trying to be gentle.

The clown's face was on the ground now. He would have made an effort to get up but it seemed that his limbs were broken by the fall. _This must be what Harley felt_, he thought.

But, no…it was too easy. He had to put a little more fight into it.

Batman grabbed him by the collars of his coat. With his brute strength the Joker lifted him up high, almost fully extending his arms above his head.

Quickly, and with great effort, the Joker slid his arms through the sleeves of his coat, letting himself fall out of it and hit the ground. His landing was rough, but he got up fast enough to run away. With great agility, he ran as fast as he could and reached a narrow metal stairway at the other end of the roof. Batman followed him with even greater speed. The madman produced a gun from God-knows-where and shot at him, making him stop in his tracks to cover himself with his bulletproof cape.

The Joker ran down the stairs as fast as he could, looking up to see if his adversary was closing in. At the sight of his target jumping and almost landing in front of him, he shot another bullet fast enough that the Batman wasn't able to dodge it. Enough force was not absorbed by his armor that he was sent backwards by the shot.

The hero landed on a railing. Deciding that the shot wasn't enough, the Joker kicked him off, letting him fall on solid concrete ground.

As the Batman tried to recover from the landing, the Joker continued downwards. He reached the bottom and slowly approached the vigilante. "I'm gonna be in a body cast for another few months but it's all worth it." He pointed the gun at him and prepared to shoot.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I kinda need my partner back."

From behind the Joker, Nightwing threw him a blow making him fall and hit his head hard on the ground, knocking him out.

"You alright there, Br—uh, Batman?" He walked towards his longtime friend and offered a hand.

Batman caught his breath and covered his mouth as he coughed out blood.

"Partner?"


End file.
